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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29276235">Tight-Laced</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChronicTonsillitis/pseuds/ChronicTonsillitis'>ChronicTonsillitis</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Prompt Fills [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The 100 (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Love Confessions, One Shot, Smut, as always, big dick bellamy blake, that's all i got right now, uhhhh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 13:13:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,649</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29276235</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChronicTonsillitis/pseuds/ChronicTonsillitis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A knock sounds at her door and she sighs gratefully, dropping the laces behind her back. Raven must have let herself in. “Hey,” Clarke calls through the door. “Can you come give me a hand with this?” </p><p>The door clicks open and she hears a whoosh of exhaled air from behind her. “I know,” Clarke says abashedly. “It’s probably too much, but— Can you tie it for me?” Heavy footsteps come to a stop at her back, hands taking the laces. Warm breath ghosts across Clarke’s neck and she flushes all the way down to her chest, skin pinking as the corset tightens. There’s a soft slip of the ribbons as they’re tied at the base of her spine, just above her thong. A calloused finger grazes her ass and Clarke’s skin prickles. “What do you think?” </p><p>“Fuck,” Bellamy says behind her.<br/>****<br/>Clarke knows it’s ridiculous to go on a first date on Valentine’s Day, but with her attraction to her best friend and roommate Bellamy getting out of control, she needs to get laid ASAP. And to guarantee the date leads to sex, she has to wear her best lingerie, because that's her method. What could go wrong? (Everything.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Prompt Fills [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2141463</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>431</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The t100 Writers for BLM Initiative</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Tight-Laced</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for The t100 Writers for BLM Initiative for an anonymous prompter based on this prompt from our very own Poppy:  </p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s— ridiculous. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke knows it’s ridiculous to go on a first date on Valentine’s Day, but she needs to get laid. She really, <em>really</em> needs to get laid. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s not crazy—not some kind of nymphomaniac or anything. It’s just—it’s been a while. A long while.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her last relationship ended with a crash and a bang when Niylah accused her of being in love with her best friend and roommate. It’s the same reason her relationship before that ended too, actually. Now that she thinks about it, it’s the reason all her relationships have ended since she moved in with Bellamy. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Which means nothing, obviously.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s not true, of course. She’s not <em>in love</em> with him. She just— he’s her best friend, and she cares about him deeply. If someone can’t respect that, she doesn’t want to be dating them anyways.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Okay, and maybe she’s attracted to him, but in her defense, anyone would be. He’s undeniably hot, with his bronze skin and broad shoulders and dimpled smile. And his abs, of course. And his back. And his neck. And—</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But she’s not in love with him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Because if she was, in fact, in love with Bellamy, she would have to examine the reasons why he didn’t feel the same way about her. And frankly? Clarke would rather walk straight into the Potomac.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Anyways, where was she?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Oh, right. Clarke needs to get laid.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s been a while since Niylah dumped her, and with Bellamy’s recent habit of watching TV shirtless her vibrator batteries are starting to run low. She just— she needs to get it out of her system, and it can’t wait. Obviously Valentine’s isn’t ideal, but it’s the only night off she has this week, and how bad could it possibly be?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She decides it would be maybe more embarrassing to not acknowledge the holiday at all than to go all out, so she decides her best compromise is to just dress up. Not outwardly, of course, because in the winter pink washes her out like crazy, but she can just use the trademark Clarke Griffin method.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her surefire method for getting dates to fall into bed with her involves a two step strategy: first, she has to bat her eyes in just the right way, and second, she has to wear lingerie. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s a vibe thing, she decided when she first started. When you know you look sexy undressed, they know you look sexy undressed, and they want to see it. Sure, she’s only had a few occasions to put the method into use, but as of yet she has a 100% success rate.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And she needs it tonight.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s not— she’s just getting in a little over her head with Bellamy.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They are best friends, <em>best friends</em>, and she cares about him more than anyone but—looking at him, seeing the way his eyes sparkle, seeing the way the veins in his arms pop out when he picks up something heavy— it’s starting to drive her crazy.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maybe she could’ve handled it before, when she was dating other people, and she’s been dating other people for the entirety of their friendship. Bellamy has been in and out of relationships, but Clarke never leaves them for long. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And that worked for her, when it came to keeping her from drooling over her best friend. Well, worked enough. Enough that it was manageable. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Now it’s not, and if she doesn’t get under somebody else immediately she’s going to do something humiliating and friendship ruining and she can’t do that.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Okay, like— Bellamy took her out after the breakup, to their favorite bar down the street, right? Nominally it was to drown her sorrows, but if she’s honest there weren’t a ton of sorrows to be had. Regardless, it was a reason to go out.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy was unexpectedly soft with her at the beginning, offering to pay for their drinks and not even kind of complaining when Clarke ordered the two of them a pitcher of some nasty house cocktail that she selected solely for the alcohol content.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As he got drunker though, there was an edge to his words, to his grin. Something vaguely— Clarke doesn’t want to say possessive, because that’s probably just projection, but he didn’t seem <em>displeased</em> by the breakup. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She was an idiot to even try with a girl like you,” he said, and Clarke looked up at him curiously. They were sitting pressed up against each other on one side of a booth, his fingers twisting a lock of her hair. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And yes, Clarke knows what that sounds like, but that’s just how they are. It’s not—it’s platonic. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked, pulling back slightly. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy shrugged, his eyes dark. “You’re too good. You need more.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Too good.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Not <em>too good for her</em>, which would make sense. Not <em>deserve better</em>, but <em>need more</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke’s mouth fell open slightly, her eye locked on his. His hand moved from her hair to her jaw, cupping it, tilting her chin up— and Clarke shuddered.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Then the moment had broken, and Bellamy shifted away, clearing his throat. “Another round?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was—Clarke is not exaggerating when she says she almost begged. But it was Bellamy, her best friend, her best <em>platonic</em> friend, and her roommate. So that was that. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Or she tries to let it be. It isn’t working particularly well.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Which is why she’s currently considering sexting her tinder date.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Cillian is nothing to write home about. Clarke hasn’t met him yet, but from his pictures he’s good looking, and from their chats he’s at least mostly normal, although definitely a horn dog. In this circumstance that’s a point in his favor, of course.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He hasn’t gone so far as to actually send Clarke dick pics, but he’s made it very clear that he wouldn’t mind. Clarke is not so desperate that she’s about to rub off to a badly lit iPhone photo of some random dude’s cock, but she thinks it might raise her chances of getting him in bed if she lets him think she did.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s not dressed particularly sexy yet, but she leans forward, angling the camera to snap a pic of her tits pushed up in her tank top. It would work, she thinks, her thumb hovering over the send button. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She could just—send it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey,” Bellamy says, knocking on the threshold of her door. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke whirls around, chucking her phone into her sheets, cheeks burning. Bellamy raises an eyebrow and she winces. “What’s up?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He gives her a suspicious look. “What was all that about?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke waves a hand, willing the color down from her cheeks. “Nothing, I—” She looks at him fully. He’s clearly just gotten out of the shower, shirtless and damp with just his pants on. His hair drips onto his shoulders and Clarke feels her mouth dry. “Do you ever wear a shirt?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy chuckles, rubbing at his wet hair with the towel in his hands. “Do you want me to?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I—” She blinks at him and then shuts her mouth, glaring. “You’re a menace.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“A pretty menace?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke rolls her eyes. “You wish. An aging, ugly menace.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s lying through her goddamn teeth, of course. Bellamy knows that, or at least he has to assume. It’s just one of those friend banter things, where he tells her she looks like a sorority dropout, and she tells him he looks like a troll under a bridge. Which he doesn’t.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He so very much doesn’t.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, this troll is going to the grocery store,” Bellamy replies, unconcerned. His shoulders shrug back, making the golden skin of his chest pull and ripple. Not that Clarke notices, or anything. “Do you want anything?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s not sure when she’ll be back. Clarke thinks for a second, considering.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wine?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy frowns at her. “No dinner?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke shrugs, looking down. She hasn’t exactly— <em>told</em> him about her date. She’s not really sure why, except that it would be awkward to explain. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">While they usually talk about everything, sex is sort of— off limits, as a conversation topic. Back at the beginning of their friendship it hadn’t been a problem, but when she started dating Finn, it just got weird somehow. Bellamy would close off, and Clarke didn’t really like to hear about his conquests either. They made her feel—something. So they just sort of stopped.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Which was good, because if they talked about sex these days, Clarke would probably spontaneously combust.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy is—she assumes he is good at it. This is a fair, evidence based assumption, because she’s lived with him for a while, and been friends with plenty of his former conquests. If she had a basis to think he’d be bad in bed, maybe she wouldn’t think about it so much. But she does. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Think about it, she means.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I might go out and get something.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He narrows his eyes doubtfully. “Any restaurant is going to be packed tonight.” Clarke shrugs again and he shakes his head at her, lips pressed together. “Right, okay, well I’ll grab something just in case.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s sweet, the way he thinks about her. Raven described it as a little caveman-y but Clarke thinks it’s more of a mothering thing, because he took care of his sister when they were growing up. Caveman vibes would indicate something less platonic. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Which would be bad.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She absolutely does not have a fantasy of him throwing her over his shoulder and chucking her in his bed, fucking her for hours and then bringing her snacks, because she needs to keep her strength up. Something to eat while he puts his hands on her, his mouth, his cock. That would be weird, to have a fantasy of that. Because he’s her best friend.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Right?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What are you thinking about, princess?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His voice startles her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy’s still in her doorway, leaning up against the door jamb with his arms crossed over his bare chest. Clarke’s cheeks flush red. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Fuck. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Princess</em>. The way he says the nickname is not helping her lust situation in the slightest. What was once insulting, then teasing, then fond; now sounds filthy. She knows he doesn’t mean it like that, but theres’s something about the way he says the word, so low and rumbly, that makes her imagine it like a growl next to her ear.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Snacks,” Clarke says dumbly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy’s lips quirk up. “I’ll get some of those too.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke nods, and closes the door behind him as he leaves. She sags back against the wall as she hears the jingle of his keys, the click of the front door opening and closing. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Then she gets up, walks over to the bed and sends the picture before she can talk herself out of it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She takes a quick shower after, and she does not touch herself, which she thinks is a grand display of self control. Cillian, to her surprise, does not send a dick pic, but he does send her some thirsty messages that make her stomach clench uncomfortably.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s not creepy or anything. She still wants to— well, wants to is a strong word, but she still will fuck him. He’s just—he’s not Bellamy.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke blow dries her hair and puts on some light makeup before starting to pull out her motley assortment of lingerie. It’s not that she has a lot—okay, well it’s not like she has a little, either, but—it’s not a very cohesive set of clothing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke buys lingerie infrequently, pretty much only when she’s feeling bad about herself. She’s also been given a few pieces by some hopeful significant others, namely Lexa and Finn. The lingerie from Lexa is hot, and expensive, from Finn…. not so much. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“This was stupid,” she tells Raven over the phone, pivoting to examine herself in the mirror. The lace underwear set is— fine. Lacy.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s not exactly a showstopper. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My tits are too big for this,” she complains. “And the red makes me look ill.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why do you even still have it?” Raven asks, which is a fair point. Clarke’s not sure the bra fit her when it was purchased, and it’s been years since she was with Finn. She wonders if Raven still has anything he bought her but she thinks it might be weird to ask.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke shrugs. “I’ve only worn it like twice.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Because it’s ugly.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Well, yeah. But Clarke has tried on just about every piece of lingerie she has so far, with the exception of some of her most ridiculous purchases, and nothing feels—<em>right</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Everything is too muted or too bright, too young or too old, too cutesy or too edgy. She wants to look hot, but she doesn’t want to make him think it’s more than it is. Which is proving to be a harder job than she expected.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The one thing that keeps drawing her back is a bustier she bought after Niylah dumped her, or really more after the bar incident with Bellamy, but she can’t wear that. She hadn’t even bothered to try it on when she bought it, having already come to her senses by the time it arrived in the mail. She didn’t send it back, however, because, well— it’s sexy, okay?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Can you just come over?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” Raven says flatly, and Clarke can just picture her rolling her eyes. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Please?” Clarke wheedles, because if she doesn’t get some encouragement, she’s not sure she’ll make it out the door. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Raven huffs. “Fine, but it won’t be for a while.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thank you!” Clarke checks the time on her phone. “But actually it needs to be in the next hour or I won’t have enough time. Okay, Bye!” She hangs up before Raven can argue.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She looks at herself again in the mirror. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her face is flushed under her makeup, hair falling loosely around her shoulders. She was exaggerating a little when she said the red made her look ill, but it’s not flattering either. Her skin looks too pale, and her tits spill out of the cups. Clarke sighs, and cycles back to the first thing she tried on.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s been forty five minutes by the time she’s back in the red set again, having given everything a second no. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The black bustier sits on the bed accusingly. It was a stupid thing to buy, so obviously a piece of lingerie that there’s no pretending it’s anything but. It’s hardly something any normal person would wear under their clothes, but it’s so— </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke likes it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She hold it out in front of her, pressing it to her torso to look in the mirror. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It looks— she can’t tell really. It looked good online, good enough that Clarke had idiotically purchased it despite the impracticality. Clarke unclips the red bra and after a moments hesitation shucks off the panties as well, picking up a black lace thong from another set. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Might as well get the whole picture, she thinks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The bustier is harder to get on than she expects. The proper term for it might really just be corset, she realizes with a blush, given that it laces up the back. She unties the stays and tries again to hook it down the front. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After a few moments struggle, she gets it done, but the laces still remain loose at her back, the front of the corset sagging when she tries to reach for them. She can already tell it will be hot, but— she wants to know. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A knock sounds at her door and she sighs gratefully, dropping the laces behind her back. Raven must have let herself in. “Hey,” she calls through the door. “Can you come give me a hand with this?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The door clicks open and she hears a whoosh of exhaled air from behind her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know,” Clarke says abashedly. “It’s probably too much but— I just wanted to see how it looks.” She holds her hair up in one hand, keeping her back towards the door. “Can you tie it for me?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Heavy footsteps come to a stop at her back, hands taking the laces. Warm breath ghosts across Clarke’s neck and she flushes all the way down to her chest, skin pinking as the corset tightens. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay, that’s good.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She drops her hair, letting it fall loose around her shoulders. There’s a soft slip of the ribbons as they’re tied at the base of her spine, just above her thong. A calloused finger grazes her ass and Clarke’s skin prickles.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What do you think?” she asks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck,” Bellamy says behind her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke whirls, her eyes wide. Why is he— oh, no. Oh <em>no</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As long as she’s lived with Bellamy, crushed on Bellamy, they’d never—he’d never— she’s almost naked, and he’s staring at her. Oh my god, her ass was out, just facing him, in a fucking thong, and he— <em>Fuck</em>. Clarke’s cheeks burn, her heart racing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shit, Bellamy, I didn’t mean— I thought you were Raven!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looks back at her, frozen in shock for a second before he blinks, averting his eyes. His hands are shoved into his pockets and he turns away from her. “Sorry, I thought— you asked for help, I didn’t—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, it’s my fault, I thought—” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They both stop. Clarke sits on her bed, groaning dramatically. “This is so embarrassing.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy clenches his teeth, his shoulders visibly tense. “It was an accident. I— I understand if you’re uncomfortable—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke blinks at his back.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Bell, it was a mistake, it’s fine. I’m not mad, I just wish—I’m just embarrassed.” Clarke shrugs on her robe and ties the belt, covering up her exposed skin. She walks over to him, stopping at his back. “Hey.” She frowns, poking at Bellamy’s elbow. “I’m decent, you can turn around now.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I really can’t,” he grits out.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why not?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy lets out a low whine through his chest. “Princess, just— I need a second.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke feels a pinch in her stomach at that. It couldn’t be that awful, right? She’s not—</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke is starting to get a little offended, actually, not to mention hurt. She’s not <em>disgusting</em>. She knows the corset is a little—much, but it’s not like it’s something latex and dominatrix-y. It’s just—lace. And yes, he saw her ass, but her ass is nice, she thinks, or nice enough. Certainly not horrifying.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Unless—maybe the thought of her like that, sexually, horrifies him? Maybe she’s so firmly in the best friend zone that it’s like if he saw Octavia in lingerie? Clarke’s hates the idea of that almost as much, even though there’s no fair reason she should. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Bellamy—” She grabs his arm and tugs, forcing him to turn. He does it begrudgingly, with a look on his face like she’s going to kill him that she doesn’t quite understand until she glances down. “Oh.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy is not disgusted.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s hard. Hugely, undeniably hard.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His cock strains at the front of his pants, erection tenting the fabric in a way that makes Clarke’s throat dry. “Sorry,” Bellamy says hollowly. “I can’t—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s fine.” Heat floods her cheeks and she drops his arm, tearing her gaze away from his crotch. “I know it’s not— would’ve happened with anyone.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Clarke—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She waves a hand, spinning away so he can’t see the way she blushes. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So,” Bellamy says, voice slightly strangled in his throat. “Are you just, uh—trying on or is there an occasion?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke doesn’t know how she’s expected to have a conversation right now, not after she’s seen— his cock is massive.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s always sort of— known Bellamy would be large, down there. It’s something about his personality, not to mention the size of his hands, but seeing it is a whole other thing. A whole other thing that is making her mouth water, making her thighs twitch, making her—</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I have a date.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Just ‘<em>Oh</em>’.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s not sure what she wanted, or expected. Maybe she thought since he found her attractive enough to get him up that he was secretly in love with her and wanted to marry her and have her children and—</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s being ridiculous, she knows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s Bellamy. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy who is her best friend. Bellamy who’s seen her at her very worst. Bellamy who just got the most unceremonious eyeful of Clarke’s bare ass after many years of chaste friendship. He’s just trying to be normal.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s not sure why that hurts.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke bites her lip. “I know it’s Valentine’s Day; it’s probably stupid, but I—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” Bellamy says. “No, I mean— you must like them, right? To do— all this?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">All this presumably being the lingerie. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She thinks about lying for a minute, but it seems like they’re well past that point. “Not really, no.” Bellamy makes a noise and she turns, eyebrows furrowed. “What?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His throat ticks, jaw clenched. Clarke wants to press her fingers into it, stroke the muscle until he relaxes. She stays where she is, fingernails biting into her palm as she stares at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You—” Bellamy swallows, wringing his hands. “You don’t have to lie to me, princess. If that’s what you’re doing. To make me feel better or whatever. It’s fine.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke frowns. “Why would I be lying?” He shrugs, looking down. “Bell, c’mon it’s me, why would I be lying?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Look,” Bellamy says. His whole expression is tight, whole body displaying pure discomfort. It doesn’t— it doesn’t make sense. Clarke can’t understand why it is at all. “I know I’m not exactly—subtle, and I know you don’t feel the same way, and that’s fine. It’s not—if you found someone you really like, I’d be happy for you, okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke shakes her head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Subtle about what?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He gives her a pained look, eyes full of exasperation. “C’mon, princess, let’s just— leave it, okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her frown deepens, and she steps towards him. “Bell—” Something in her stomach flips, something like hope. “How do you feel?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Bad,” he mumbles, and Clarke rolls her eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“About me,” Clarke corrects. “How do you feel about me?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy groans, covering his face with his hands. Clarke steps in closer, tugging them away. He’s still hard, she tries desperately not to notice. The impressive length of him brushes against her belly as she crowds into his space.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy blinks at her, big brown eyes framed with long lashes. “Don’t make me say it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Bellamy,” Clarke begs, her voice breathy. “Please. I need you to say it. I need you to tell me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">One of his big hands finds her face, cupping her jaw. His calloused thumb brushes softly against the skin of her cheek, and Clarke leans into it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I love you,” Bellamy says quietly. “You know that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke swallows hard. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How?” she presses. “In what way?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His eyes search her face, looking for—something. She thinks maybe he finds it, because his shoulders sink, the corners of his lips curling up into a grin.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy lets out a quiet laugh. The hand not on her face snakes around her waist, a sudden burst of confidence spurring him on. “In the way where you’re my best friend. In the way I want to know you for the rest of my life.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke’s heart falls, and she looks down. That’s not— she thought he’d meant more, from the way he’s holding her. From the way his cock is pressed against her. But maybe it’s just him, maybe it’s just how he is. Maybe he doesn’t want anything more.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy leans in close, his lips pressing against her ear. “In the way I wanted to fuck you into the mattress as soon as I saw you in that fucking outfit.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke shivers, heat pooling between her thighs. “<em>Oh</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy chuckles darkly, wrapping his fingers in a gold curl. “Yes,” he agrees. “Oh.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her eyes flick over his, mouth agape. “I need to—” Clarke tugs herself out of his grip. “One second.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy watches with horror as she walks away from him, but she just goes as far as her bed, picking up her phone. Clarke keeps eye contact with him as she dials, holding the phone up to her ear.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Cillian, hi, it’s Clarke,” she says. “Yeah, I’m actually not feeling up to it after all tonight.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy blinks at her and she holds a finger to her lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, no, nothing like that I just— well, I just don’t think I’m ready to be dating again.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She rolls her eyes as she listens to his response. “No, I know. I’m sorry, I just—uh huh. Yep.” Clarke can feel her heartbeat pounding in her ears. “If anything changes, I’ll certainly let you know. Okay, thanks. Bye.” She clicks off, tossing the phone onto her bed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy looks at her, and she looks back, breathless. Her hands move to the front of her robe, untying it. His gaze doesn’t move from her eyes even as the garment slips off her shoulders to the floor.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I love you,” Clarke says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And she does.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Of course she does, who is she even trying to kid? If she isn’t in love with him, why in the world would people keep breaking up with her for it?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s been in love with him for years, and loved him even longer than that. It’s who they are, so deeply a part of Clarke that she didn’t even stop to examine it. And why bother? He loves her back.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy surges forward with a grin and she meets him halfway, their lips catching together in a kiss much too long in the making. Clarke groans into his mouth, fingers sliding into his dark curls and tugging him closer. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“To clarify—” he asks against her lips, arms wrapped around her waist. “You mean like—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shut up,” Clarke breathes. Bellamy lets out a huff of a laugh, lips trailing down her jaw to her neck. Clarke tilts her head back, gasping as he sucks bruises into the skin of her throat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck,” she moans. “Fuck.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s—it’s everything. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Everything she thought it would be, everything she dreamed of, everything she never allowed herself to hope for. His hands are all over her, big and hot, tracing the shape of her body over the lingerie. It’s almost dizzying, having him this close, having his lips against her skin.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So good,” he murmurs. “Knew you’d be so good.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The more he said she needed, he was right. She does need more. She needs him, here, now. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He strokes down her belly, pressing the lace into her skin. Clarke moans, internally cursing the stupid corset. It’s hot, and obviously Bellamy likes it, but she wants his hands on her skin properly, not just skirting above it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“This is probably a bad idea,” Bellamy whispers into her throat, but he doesn’t make any move to step back. “Should take you on a date first, or—buy you fucking flowers.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke huffs out a laugh, dragging him closer. “It’s Valentine’s Day. I think that’s good enough.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wanted to do this right,” he says, but his hands are sliding down her ass, hiking her up against him. The length of Bellamy’s cock presses into her panty-covered mound, grinding into her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t mind,” Clarke promises breathlessly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He picks her up with a growl, walking her back to the bed until the back of her knees hit the edge of the mattress. Clarke scoots back onto the sheets, and Bellamy climbs over her, chasing her lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They make out like that for a while: her arms around his neck, his hips between her thighs. His hands are all over her, everywhere except the one place she needs them to be. Her pelvis bucks up towards him, desperate to be touched.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Bell,” she whimpers. “Please.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s being a brat, but that’s okay, because so is he. He chuckles against her ear, petting his fingers over the lacy waistband of her panties, and Clarke can tell he’s doing it on purpose. Trying to drive her crazy.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s working, of course. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s our first time together,” Bellamy says, the pad of his finger dragging along the curve of her thigh. “Don’t you want it to be special?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There’s something genuinely self-conscious in his voice, and Clarke opens her eyes. Her hand finds his cheek, cupping his face. “It’s already special.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why?” he asks, lips pursed. He taps his fingers along the boning of the corset. “Because it’s Valentine’s Day? Because you’re wearing this?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke shakes her head, biting her cheek. “Because it’s you,” she says, and blinks at him shyly. "Because it's me and it's you."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy’s eyes flash, and a smile curls across Clarke’s lips as his grip on her tightens. “Yeah?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” Clarke agrees. “Now will you please touch me?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And he does.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Oh, <em>god</em>; he does. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His fingers sink into her panties without hesitation, stroking down through her swollen folds once before sliding back out. Clarke moans, shimmying her hips so he can slip them off, but Bellamy doesn’t move to pull them down. Instead, he rubs at her clit over the lace, grinding it into her wet cunt.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You wanted to look pretty tonight, didn’t you?” he asks, his voice dark. “Wearing all this?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke writhes against him, shaking her head in a tight nod. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not for me though.” The words are almost casual, but there’s an edge to them that she recognizes. Jealousy, possessiveness. The knowledge blazes through Clarke’s stomach like a fire, rushing to join the heat between her thighs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The corset is tight, not so tight that she can’t breath, but tight enough that it’s shallow; that when her chest heaves it’s only her tits that move, rising and falling in quick little pants that leave her dizzy in the best way. Almost as good as his hand on her throat, but there would be time for that later.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy presses his lips to the skin right above the corset, mouthing at the top of her breast. “Gonna make you ruin these panties, soak them through.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">In Clarke’s opinion, there’s not much more ruined they could get, but she gets his point. He’s not gonna to take any of the lingerie off until she comes. She flushes, sinking her face into his shoulder as he works at her clit through the fabric.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s absolutely dripping, she knows; the panties clinging to her wet cunt as her arousal seeps through them. Bellamy presses down over her hole, feeling the sticky wetness. Clarke thinks she might be embarrassed if it weren’t for the way his eyes go black, pupils blown.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck, princess,” Bellamy groans, rutting against her thigh. His thumb grinds down on her clit hard, fingers cupping her cunt. His teeth tease at the top of her breast and she breaks, cunt clamping down around nothing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s gasping for breath, and Bellamy’s hands claw at the front of the corset, wrenching it open without untying the back. Clarke sucks in a heady gulp of air, feeling the sweat on her skin cool.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey,” Bellamy says, and she opens her eyes. He strokes a hand down her cheek, looking at her with concern. “You okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke nods, wriggling out of the remains of the corset. Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips, and then his mouth is on hers again, kissing her soft and slow. Clarke’s hands find the hem of his shirt, pulling it up over his head and tossing it to the side.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Can’t believe you’re still dressed,” she complains, and Bellamy laughs against her lips, undoing his pants and kicking them off. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re so impatient.” His bare skin presses against hers, his body hot and hard and perfect. He slides her panties over her hips while he kisses down her belly, stopping once his shoulders are beneath her thighs. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke moans as he puts his mouth on her bare cunt.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s electric, the feeling overwhelming even after her prior orgasm. Maybe it’s even better now because of that, because of the way he made her come without touching her skin. All she knows is her mind goes blank, fingers sinking into his hair, holding him against her clit as her back snaps into an arch.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck,” she gasps, and he presses one hand down on her belly to hold her still, the other working its fingers into her pussy. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy groans as his fingers slide inside her, her walls squeezing tight around them. Clarke shudders unexpectedly, a second orgasm whipping through her much faster than should be possible.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She tugs at Bellamy’s hair, and he looks up at her, one eyebrow raised. Her cunt still ripples around his fingers. “Already?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He sounds almost disappointed, and it makes Clarke laugh. She pulls him up her body, kissing him soundly on the lips. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I was hoping to make it last,” he grumbles, but his cock grinds against her center, slipping through the slick folds. “Maybe—” Bellamy gasps against her neck, eyes closing tight. “—maybe draw it out a little bit.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Next time,” Clarke promises. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy smiles, nipping at her lips. His length drags against his clit, and Clarke glances down. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yes, he’s big. Just as big as she thought. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy snorts and she meets his eyes again, grinning guiltily. “Something interesting down there?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke rolls her eyes, pushing playfully at his shoulder. It does nothing, of course. Not with a body like his. “Shut up, you know exactly what you’re like.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh?” Bellamy’s cheeks are dimpled, eyes twinkling, and if Clarke didn’t like him so much it would be entirely insufferable.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Will you please fuck me already?” she asks sweetly. “With your completely average sized cock?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy huffs indignantly, grinding his not-so-average sized cock against her swollen cunt. “Condom?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke opens her mouths and snaps it shut again, grimacing. “Bedside table,” she says, her eyebrows pulling together, “But they’re probably not—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” Bellamy asks, stroking her hair back from her face with an amused grin.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not the right size.” Bellamy laughs aloud, pressing his lips to her chest. Clarke groans as he takes a nipple into his mouth and bites down lightly before dropping it. “Shut up.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I can go get one from my room,” he offers, which is a nice sentiment but sounds horrendous. Clarke just wants him inside her, approximately five minutes ago.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Or I’m on birth control, which you well know,” she counters. “And haven’t gotten laid since my yearly checkup.” Bellamy freezes against her. Clarke blinks up at him, worried. “What?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His eyes are black again, so hot it burns. “Are you asking me to fuck you raw?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke shivers. It’s not— it’s not that big of a deal, at least, not to her but— “Yeah.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There’s that possessive look again, the one that makes her feel owned in the best kind of way, and then he’s grabbing at her tits, sucking her nipples into his mouth, pawing at every inch of her skin. His thumb rubs at her clit, thick fingers sinking inside her cunt and spreading her open, feeling the wet clutch of her walls. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She whines when he finally notches the head of his cock at her entrance and sinks in.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s excruciating, how good it is. He’s big, his cock long and thick and perfect as it spreads her wide, forcing her to make room for him inside her. It hurts just a little bit, just enough to remind her that it’s more than she’s used to taking, more than she’ll ever be used to taking most likely. And she fucking loves it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy watches her face closely, his eyes hungry.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Can’t tell you how many times I thought of this,” he growls, bottoming out inside her. Clarke squirms, her head thrown back, awash in the feeling. She feels him shudder as he draws back, pulling almost all the way out. “Thought of you, like this.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke groans, twisting her head to the side as he begins to thrust his hips, feeding his cock into her with long, hard strokes. “Is it—” she gasps, hands flying out to grip at the sheets. “Is it what you thought?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shakes his head, eyes clenching shut. His fingers lace with hers, pinning her hands to the mattress beside her head. “It’s so much fucking better.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His thrusts are rough, punishing, and she feels every inch of him as he crams his cock inside her. The feeling of skin on skin, the heavy drag of his cock at her entrance—it’s all so much.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re so good,” Bellamy bites out. “So good.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“More,” she begs. “I need—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He flips her with a growl, turning her over so she’s on her front. His hand slips around her belly, pulling her up to her knees and shoving his cock back inside her aching cunt before she has time to complain.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How’s this?” Bellamy asks, folding himself over her back so he can press his lips to her neck. He tangles her hair in one hand, wrapping it around his fist.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” Clarke breathes. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s even deeper like this, even better. He tugs her hair back to make her arch her back, his other hand moving between her thighs to work at her throbbing clit. She jumps when his fingers press down on the hard nub, hips jerking back against his.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy laughs, pressing down harder, rubbing tight circles. His fingers drift down farther for a second, feeling where they meet, where her entrance is stretched tight around his cock, and they both moan. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He bites down on her shoulder, moving his attention back to her clit. “Fuck,” he mutters. “Fuck.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke has to agree.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She lets out a low keen as he drives into her harder, forcing her closer to her climax. “Bellamy,” she begs, her hands fisted in the sheets beside her face. “Please.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her belly sinks, back turning concave, and he sinks even further inside her, bumping up against her cervix. His fingers press down on her clit, and the doubled sensation is too much. She breaks around him, clenching her teeth as she comes almost violently.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy’s hips stutter at the feeling of her cunt squeezing around him, and he manages only a few more long thrusts before he’s following her over the edge with a groan. Clarke feels his cock twitch inside her, feel his muscles tense and slacken as he spills hot into her cunt. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He slumps down over her, body like a sweaty pile of bricks. Clarke nudges him off, wincing as his cock slides out of her. Bellamy let out a satisfied sigh, dragging her up onto his chest.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hi,” he says, and she smiles at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hi.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy pushes her hair back from her face, tucking sweaty blonde curls behind her ear. They fall back into her face almost immediately, but she appreciates the gesture. “How do you feel?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke shifts, feeling the mess of their combined come leaking out between her thighs, the sore ache of her entrance. “Sticky.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He laughs. “Yeah.” They look at each other for a long moment, eyes soft. His thumb strokes her cheek, and she rests her chin against his chest. “Clarke, I—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The door flies open and they both startle, heads whipping towards the noise. Raven stands in the doorway, her eyes wide. She looks for one long second and then lets out a cackle, closing the door behind her as she leaves.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Happy Valentine’s Day!” she calls from the living room. Clarke and Bellamy remain frozen until the front door slams shut. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy relaxes first, jarring Clarke against his chest with the force of his laughs. She rolls her eyes but grins, waiting for him to stop.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She’s going to tell everyone, you know,” Clarke says, tracing patterns against his sternum.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There’s a glint in Bellamy’s eye as he replies, a curve to his lips. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good,” he says, and Clarke smiles.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good,” she agrees.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>written with love for The t100 Writers for BLM Initiative, find out how to get your own here: <a href="https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co">t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co</a></p><p>happy super bowl hope you enjoyed your smut</p><p>throw me a comment or a kudo if you please</p><p>Oh and let me know what to tag for this fic bc I am blanking</p></blockquote></div></div>
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